Chapter Text
Planet: Mir
Date: 203 Days of Voltron
“We ask that your mated pair bless us in these proceedings!”
And there it was — a pointed look towards Lance and Keith.
Pidge sighed heavily to herself. Not again, she thought, bracing her hands on the dinner table. Shiro was next to her, frowning, and then his frown was clearing into a smoother, more peaceful expression — he knew exactly what was about to happen.
The explosions were imminent unless somebody reacted, fast.
Pidge saw that Allura knew it, too. She gave a panicked look towards the “mated pair” before assuming a more regal, lady-like pose. Less than a moment later, Hunk’s eyes widened hugely, and he had a hand hovering over Lance, waiting.
Coran was happily guzzling down his bright blue wine as if a metaphorical flaming meteor wasn't hurtling towards them at light-speed. Pidge envied him.
It started with Lance. “I’m sorry, what?”
Keith leaned forward, one hand clenching a knife tightly, way too tightly. Pidge readied herself to jump in front of a flying projectile, thereby saving a life from a far too hot-headed Red Paladin.
The Imperator Fr’ellin, a tall being with four arms (actually, maybe Pidge would sit this out — he could probably catch any knife thrown his way) and an incredibly long mane of crimson hair, answered with a boisterous laugh. “I do apologize, I know not what you would call yourself and the Red Paladin. Perhaps ‘bonded’?”
Coran snorted into his cup, spraying wine everywhere (including on Keith, who looked burning mad enough to instantly evaporate any liquid in a five metre radius).
Immediately, Shiro was speaking with authority over whatever Lance or Keith were sputtering/growling. “Our two knights are what we would call comrades. They are friends and Paladins, but have no other relationship beyond those roles.”
“Yes,” Allura added calmly. “There are no bonded or mated pairs amongst the knights, it would be considered a distraction, at best, to have such relations between —”
“Ah, I understand, and I am sorry for the presumption. I hope this isn’t some grave offence —”
Lance’s mutterings reached Pidge. “Freaking highest offence, you couldn’t have said anything more —”
“Not at all, Imperator, it is of no consequence!” Allura gave a bright, winning smile, though her eyes shone with the promise of pain when she glanced over at Lance.
The Blue Paladin shut his mouth, crossed his arms, and sunk low in his seat.
“Princess, then perhaps you and the leader of your Paladins would consider performing the blessing! I insist, as you are honoured guests!”
The blessing involved lighting a huge statue of a Mir deity on fire, and the chanting of a few words while holding hands. It looked really neat — after Shiro and Allura finished the chant, the statue burned with a bright pink fire that Pidge was itching to analyze. Perhaps the accelerant used, or the material that the statue was carved from; it smelled a bit fruity ... But never mind that, Lance and Keith should be her focus right now.
Pidge was supremely grateful to Shiro and Allura and their diplomatic ways. Hunk was patting Lance on the back, comforting while also mocking him mercilessly, no doubt, if Lance’s cutting glare was anything to go by. Pidge looked towards Keith, trying to catch his eye and see how he was doing; Coran seemed to take it upon himself to distract the other boy with some grandiose tale in which he used his utensils as story-telling aids. He succeeded in bringing Keith out of his sulk — mostly because the Red Paladin had to make sure that Coran didn’t upend the table with his enthusiasm, as the Altean simulated some kind of massive explosion using the punch bowl and several cups.
This was the third time Keith and Lance had been assumed to be a couple. Pidge was now, officially, no longer surprised.
But the first time had been pretty shocking.
Planet: Celthrius
Date: 119 Days of Voltron
Morning Meeting Between Celthrian Governing Senate and Team Voltron
“We would consider forming an alliance, but first we have a few concerns to address …”
Pidge had practically fallen asleep as Allura and Lady Hycinthia discussed treaties and policies. None of it interested Pidge, except for one brief discussion about biological warfare; it ended quickly with a “No, let’s not,” even as Pidge tried to uncover what sort of chemical and biological technologies they had— for purely scientific reasons. She was shut down rather efficiently, though the head of the science division did praise her "inquisitive mind." She felt weirdly homesick at that — so many adults back on Earth had dismissed her with almost that exact phrase.
Whatever, I could hack your systems if I wanted to, Pidge had thought, keeping herself from dozing off by contemplating a new decryption virus she had been working on.
Then came the moment that ended negotiations rather … abruptly.
“Well, perhaps our last concern, a quibble, really, is that a few of our generals question the youth of your Paladins." Lady Hycinthia was the Celthrians' eldest warrior, and she spoke with a cool command without being condescending. “Our society does not deem anyone under the age of majority — 30 rotations — eligible for combat training. And we certainly do not allow family or significant others to fight in the same units.”
Pidge straightened in her seat, waking up as she processed this strange statement. Family? Well, maybe they were a family of sorts, but none of them looked like they were related, genetically speaking. She glanced at each member of her team, and they all had the same puzzled expression. Except Keith. He just looked indifferent, blinking slowly — he might even be asleep with his eyes open (that had happened once, creeping everyone out; Hunk still occasionally snapped his fingers in front of Keith’s face whenever the Red Paladin was motionless for too long).
“I’m afraid I am at a loss here. None of our Paladins are related in terms of familial ties, but they are very close. Voltron demands that they be so.” Allura tilted her head, her lips pursed.
“We are no strangers to soldiers becoming closer than blood, Princess,” one of the generals said, twisting her exceedingly long fingers in Lance’s direction … and then Keith’s. “But having two soldiers who are also lovers? We have found that to be complicated and dangerous.”
Pidge’s jaw dropped.
Keith almost fell out of his chair.
Lance? Lance exploded.
“You mean me and mullet-brain?!” He took in a deep breath as the general nodded — now she was the one looking confused.
“Naturally, you are clearly —”
Lance didn’t let her finish as he stood up, horrified and letting everyone know it. “THAT IS THE MOST INSANE — I WOULD RATHER EAT A LIVE DOG —”
Turned out dogs were sacred on Celthrius — and Lance’s specific word choice was considered not only blasphemous, but also extremely disgusting. Their loudmouth Blue Paladin was nearly skewered by several soldiers; Hunk tackled two of them while Pidge quickly used her bayard to subdue three others. Shiro overturned the table, grabbed Keith and Allura, and ducked behind said table. More soldiers poured into the room, likely hearing the skirmish and rushing in with their weapons drawn.
Lady Hycinthia cleared up the confusion very quickly with a decisive tossing of a stun grenade. While everyone was temporarily dizzy and on the floor, she gave a rousing lecture both to her people and Lance about the power of words, and when context and consideration had to be applied.
After that bit of diplomatic blundering on Lance’s part, he stayed away from any and all first contact situations for two months.
“It’s not like we’re Shiro and Allura — like, I get that. There’s all these looks, and tension, and, like, endless mutual respect. They’re princess and knight in shining robotic armour. It’s so obvious with them. So why, why, why does this keep happening with me and Keith?!”
Pidge breathed out her exasperation, even as her lips twitched upwards at Lance’s typical melodramatic whining. It was both funny and painful — Matt would totally find Lance hilarious, and Pidge hated that he wasn't here, that she couldn't connect her blood family to her newfound family. She took in a deep breath, pushing the hurt down as she did too many times a day.
They were back on the Castle, pulling away from Mir with yet another planet committed to opposing the Galra Empire. They had more supplies, and more ships added to the patrols — patrols that Shiro had designed with the express purpose of protecting currently unconquered systems. They would also hopefully act as an early warning if, and when, the Galra entered those sections of space.
However, with their success came Lance, unable to celebrate because he simply could not let go of this latest aliens-think-Red-and-Blue-Paladins-are-totally-married incident.
As much as she cared about Lance, considered him a brother even, Pidge wanted quiet. She wanted to be able to modify programs without Lance bugging her at least once a day to hack into Keith’s room comm and blare Coran’s favourite Altean operas at all hours. She was thinking of telling him to go for a quick fly around in the Blue Lion, one of the best ways to calm him down ...
But then again, maybe it was time to try and solve this particular Lance Induced Headache once and for all.
She turned to face Lance directly, holding back yet another smile as he attempted to spin one of her new Rover shells on his finger like a basketball. He actually managed to get it going before he noticed her unimpressed look; he set the metal ball down gently and then folded his hands behind his head, whistling innocently. One of her hands was idly inputting several coded commands into what could end up being a robotic mechanic, but she could do that in her sleep, let alone while listening to Lance rave about Keith. For the hundred-and-fifty-third time.
“Right, let’s analyze the situation, shall we?” Pidge swivelled a little on her stool, levelling Lance with a stare that actually froze him in place. Good, she thought with satisfaction. Enough is enough.
“As of four or so months ago, you and Keith were actually getting along — what happened?”
Lance stared.
Pidge waited patiently.
Lance fidgeted.
Pidge stopped coding, crossed her arms, and continued to wait.
Lance and Keith had been a subject of her scrutiny for a while — there wasn’t much in the way of entertainment on the ship, and Pidge could only create and maintain so many robots — and she had been drawing her own conclusions.
She even had a series of disjointed notes, gathered under the tentative title, Observances On the Obtuse and Analysis on the Depths of their Density. The first few points were as follows:
1) For all that Lance and Keith were constantly bickering, they frequently either stood next to each other or orbited around one another.
2) Neither of them had ever crossed the line into physical brawls, though admittedly, some of their training exercises came close.
Side-note the first: Lance and Keith trained together a lot. Often enough to have their own synchronized moves that worked fantastically in battle.
3) They had been getting along better until precisely 85 days into their Voltron adventures, when suddenly, Keith became even more withdrawn than usual.
Side-note the second: Even though they were back to butting heads near constantly, their ability to work together seamlessly in battle was not affected — and they even managed civil banter during those times.
There was more, but for now she mulled over those first three points specifically, as Lance finally seemed to come back online, making loud noises and throwing up his hands.
“I don’t know what’s going on! I don’t know what happened! We were buddies, I thought, we were good, and he was less of a jackass, and then … One day he just went back to treating me like a piece of gum stuck on his badass biker boots, and at first I thought it was just, you know, a mood, but then he wouldn’t stop. So. There.”
“Did you ask him if anything was wrong?” Pidge already knew the answer to this question, but a scientist should never assume anything — hard data was the only kind of good data, after all.
“What do you take me for, Pidge?” Lance actually clutched at his shirt, just over his heart. “I am not talking to Keith about why he’s being a jerk. Because he’s being a jerk! Who wants to talk to a jerk? ”
“Lance,” Pidge said tolerantly, “I get that you’re really just a ball of sensitivity wrapped up in a thin layer of boastful, blatantly flirtatious, smarmy —”
“Okay, stop any time now —”
“— not-really-bad-boy, but Keith doesn’t know you like Hunk and I do. He doesn’t know that you’re mostly all-talk, except when, you know, it’s serious. And it might be serious.” Pidge emphasized these last few words, leaning forward to jab a pointed finger into Lance’s chest.
Lance rubbed at the sore spot, blinking as he contemplated her words. His eyes widened when they finally registered, and there was a slight edge of guilt there. “Do you think … there’s, like, something wrong?”
Pidge didn’t think so — nothing too bad, at least — so she shrugged. “Maybe? Keith is only really close to Shiro, and I don’t think he talks to him all that often about personal stuff. He seems to sort of …internalize things.” It was a problem, one that Keith had been getting better at before his sudden shift back into sullen teen stereotype.
As Lance went silent, Pidge turned to her programming, catching an error that might have resulted in her new Rover Mechanic possibly attempting a hostile takeover of certain algorithms, particularly those related to food production. Hunk would never forgive her if she didn’t fix that right now; she might not forgive herself either — Hunk’s experimentation with those production units had resulted in some very savoury goop the last few weeks.
“Pidge? Do you think that, maybe …” Lance trailed off, his eyes glazing over, before he seemed to snap back to reality, waving off whatever he'd been about to say. “You know what? Never mind, this is dumb. Keith is dumb. All of this is dumb, and I refuse to let it get to me.”
Pidge let her head drop back, and she stared up at the ceiling, imploring any deity that might exist to help Lance get his own head out of his butt, since I am failing.
“Right. Good talk,” Pidge said, reaching in her tool unit for a small cauterizing tool and then slamming the drawer shut with a little more force than was necessary.
“Yeah, thanks for the help!” Lance stood up, ruffling her hair and giving her a wide grin. Pidge felt herself soften, just a tad — a point zero three five of a smidge — and smiled back at him.
Her good will towards the Blue Paladin lasted all of a week — when a rescue mission turned diplomatic opportunity blew up in all their faces, thanks to a Red and Blue Paladin scuffle that nearly caused a planetary civil war.
Pidge was done.
She was now moving from observing to experimenting until a solution was found because, clearly, these two dolts could not be trusted to sort out their own damn problems. They were family, after all, and Pidge wouldn't feel right if she didn't do what she observed most good families do — meddle.